A Day At The Office
by Eesa
Summary: Kid tries to file some taxes, and control his temper. Follow up to "Like a Boss"


Follow- up to "Like a Boss"

WARNING: uncensored swearing and general rage.

* * *

Death and Kid were very much opposites.

Normally, Kid would say they were like the sun and moon, but since Death City's sun and moon were both creepy, dripping blood, and possibly homicidal, he supposed there wasn't much of a contrast.

Death was much more of a child than Kid was. He was cheerful, fun loving, and had an optimistic outlook on life. Whereas Kid was the voice of reason, sophisticated, and level-headed.

Liz called Kid anal. Kid agreed.

In fact, the only thing that Kid and his father shared in common was their lack of creativity. For goodness sakes, Death named his own child, "Death the Kid". Poets everywhere around the world wept.

So this was how Kid found himself filing the annual business receipts in his dad's office to see what could be written off. He gritted his teeth. His father was the God of Death, but the infuriating, pompous douche of a taxman still insisted that he was not excepted from paying taxes.

Death didn't want to smite the tax people, so Kid also refrained. But the next day, he killed the taxman's dog. That's what you get for being a douche, he reasoned.

But as he went through the receipts, he found them getting more and more ludicrous. One hundred dollars worth of pretzels? Seventy-five spent on "Where's Waldo?" books? _Six hundred dollars on custom-made mittens._

It was enough to make Kid want to tear his asymmetrical hair out at the roots.

When his father bounced in, with his usual cheerful demeanour and sprightly airs, Kid was _pissed as shit._

"Hey Kid, what's up?" He sang jubilantly.

"Father," Kid hissed. "Why do you insist on spending money on the most trivial things? I swear, you do it just to aggravate me."

Death's mask looked hurt, or rather, his eyeholes drooped down at the corners. "Why, Kid! I'll have you know that I simply _had_ to have those mittens. You have no idea how hard it is to find mittens in my size."

"They weren't just mittens, Father! They were silk-lined, alpaca fur stuffed, tasselled mittens. What in Gods name would you need tasselled mittens for?"

"For black tie affairs, of course."

Kid put his head in his hands and began to sob. Really, it was only eight-thirty in the morning. It was much, much too early for this.

Death edged closer to the desk. "Kid, I… Have some more receipts for you."

He flung the overflowing box of paper onto the desk, and hauled ass out of there.

Kid felt his temperature slowly begin to rise again as he read them. One hundred and twenty nine dollars on a month-long gym membership. A contract for a Bowflex. _Two hundred on the "Super Edition Behind- The- Scenes-Look Video of William and Kate's Royal Wedding'._

Things were not looking up for Kid.

So the morning wore on, and Kid's temperament waned. He sat at the desk, wondering if Death really _needed_ a retirement fund, when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. In walked Maka, skirt a-swingin' and pigtails a-bouncin'. Kid's mood improved. Maka was one of the few people he enjoyed spending time around, due to her vast literary knowledge (and definitely not because she had very nice legs). Nothing like a good book debate to brighten a dreary Wednesday morni-

Maka slammed a large battle- axe into Death's desk. "FUCK!" She screamed.

Kid blinked.

"My father," she hissed, "my father was supposed to visit me for my birthday, and where was he?"

"I'm sure I don't know" Kid trembled. No, scratch that. He wasn't trembling. Men don't tremble.

Maka picked the axe up and swung it at the desk again, missing Kid's hand by a mere inch.

Fuck this. He was secure in his masculinity, and could admit that he was, in fact, trembling.

"He was at the club!" She screeched. "He was at the club, dancing with strippers! He missed his own daughter's birthday for _strippers_!"

Several more axe-swings ensured.

"Maka," Kid began, "I fail to see what me, or this desk for that matter, did to cause your father to seek companionship with, ah, ladies of the night."

"Well I fail to see why we have strip clubs in this town in the first place! It's your father's fault for putting them in! All men are the same, I swear!"

"Now, that's not true. Many of us-"

"Hey!" Maka pointed a finger at Kid. "You're a man too, aren't you?"

Kid narrowed his eyes. "Of course I-"

"I mean, you do have a penis, don't you?

Kid coughed, pulling at his tie. "Of course I… What business is it of yours-"

"Do you have a mom? How were you born? Do you have a bellybutton?

"Is this really necessary-"

"How come you never go to the strip clubs? I bet I've been there more than you have! Wait, do you not like strippers?"

"Maka, I'm very busy-"

"Of course! That's why you're always impeccably dressed, and obsessed over interior decorating! _It's because you're g-"_

"BITCH, SHUT YO MOUTH!" Kid screamed. "I WILL GO TO YOUR HOUSE, AND BURN IT TO THE FUCKING GROUND!"

Maka froze, eyes wide in shock. "Ok," she whispered. "I'll just… go…" She wrenched the axe out of the desk, and walked towards the exit. She only made it halfway before her legs gave out and she crouched in the corner of the room, shaking in fear. Kid sat back down. Alrighty then, back to work.

He rubbed his eyes. They were _killing_ him. He was sure he needed glasses, but placing these gorgeous eyes behind a thick layer of glass would be a national crime. He preened a bit, thinking about how awesome he looked in his crisp, ironed suit. Nothing cut a finer image than a man in a fine suit.

Kid shook his head. Dear god, maybe Maka was right.

Luckily, Kid was saved by that particular thought from the scuffling of feet down the hallway once again, and Crona entered hesitantly.

Kid looked up from his paperwork. "Hello, Crona. What can I do for you?"

Many people were put off by Crona's antisocial tendencies and all-around timidness, but Kid didn't mind. If he were raised by a psychopathic witch who locked him in small rooms and had a fused him with a really douche-y monster, he'd be kind of shy too.

"Well…. I…" Crona stuttered.

"Yes?" Kid prodded.

"It's…. There's…

"Go on" A little annoyed.

"I… They…"

Kid rubbed his eyes. "Spit it out, Crona."

"People… They…"

Good God.

"Crona, take a deep breath and try again."

Crona began to shake. "I…I…"

Ragnarok popped out of Crona's back. "Dude, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" he exclaimed. He turned to Kid. "Listen, twerp, people are ragging on Crona, asking if he's a guy or a girl. Problem is, dipshit over here almost passes out every time they ask him!"

He proceeded to give Crona a very harsh noogie.

"The way I see it," Kid began, "there is a very easy way to resolve this issue."

"Oh yeah? This should be fucking good." Ragnarok crossed his arms. "Lay it on me, OCD boy."

Kid bristled. He preferred the term, 'neat freak'. "Crona should just tell people his gender."

"Holy shit!" Ragnarok yelled. "What a friggin' genius idea from the friggin' death God over here! Tell people his gender! Amazing!"

Kid's temperature began to rise. "Now, listen here-"

"I sure see why they made you a shinigami! Hey, bitch!" he yelled in Maka's direction. "Get a load of Stripes over here! He says Crona _should just tell people his gender!"_

Maka did not move from her fetal position.

"I'll ask you to kindly-"

"And I'll ask you to kindly _shove your great ideas up your ass!"_ Shrieked Ragnarok.

Kid slammed his fists down on the table, leaving two very deep dents. "YOU LISTEN HERE, MOTHERFUCKER. YOU WATCH YOUR GOD DAMN LANGUAGE, OR I WILL RIP OUT YOUR TOUNGE, AND FEED IT TO YOU!"

Ragnarok froze, then slowly sunk down between Crona's shoulder blades. They both slunk to the corner to sit beside Maka, adopting her fetal position and rocking combination.

Kid straightened his tie. Back to the taxes, then. His father's 401K was looking a little low. Maybe he should siphon some of his funds from his offshore account to restore it. Or maybe they should build more nightclubs. Maka's dad brought in almost half the town's revenue due to his lavish spending at Chupa Cabra's.

Again, the sound of shoes in the hallway. God, please no! Kid massaged the bridge of his nose. There was just so much a man could take in one day.

Then Black Star walked in.

No. No. This was it. Kid stood up, fully prepared to leave.

Black Star stood in his way. "Hey, you!" He screamed.

Kid winced. That was right in his ear. "What", he gritted out, "do you want?"

"I would like you to leave this office immediately!"

The fuck.

"May I ask why you feel I should evacuate this room?"

Black Star blinked. "I didn't. I asked you to leave."

"Yes, yes!" Kid flapped his hand impatiently. "Leave, whatever! Make it quick." This day would not fucking end.

"Because this office is just the right space for a person as awesome and majestic as I am! The acoustics are great for someone who will surpass God!"

"Okay, well. This is my office. So find another one. Or don't. Whatever." Where was Tsubaki? She needed to keep a tighter rein on him.

"It's not _your_ office. It's your _dad's_. And I'm telling you to leave, cause now I want it."

"And I'm telling _you_ to leave."

"No, _you_." He poked Kid in the chest.

Oh, hell no.

"LISTEN, YOU LITTLE BITCH. I AM GOING TO FIND MY SKATEBOARD, AND USE IT TO BASH YOUR FUCKING MOUTH."

Black Star slunk into the corner to join Maka and Crona.

Of course, Spirit came prancing in, all "hey, you're not Death", then all "I saw the hottest girl, her rack was huge, no, seriously, at least a D cup, hey can I use the mirror to spy on her in the shower"

Kid might not have monster-sized hands like his father, but he could still perform a perfectly adequate Reaper Chop. Spirit would be out for five hours, at least.

He was too old for this shit.

Kid strode past Death in the hallway, not even saying hello. Death reached his office, taking in the three crying in the corner and the one knocked out in the middle of the room.

A tear welled up in Death's eye, and he clasped his hands under his chin in a fit of fatherly pride.

"My son!"


End file.
